He's Fire And Ice And Rage

for hisoldgirl

She knows what you’re doing.

She knew the moment you came in the door. She knew as you stood at the console, staring at a blank spot and contemplating your own death. She knew.

“No,” you had said, and you pulled a lever, sending yourself and her elsewhere. Anywhere. Somewhere that wasn’t your current fate. Somewhere that would keep you alive and safe.

Because when it comes down to it, that’s what you were convinced you were doing.

But she knows better.

She sees the recklessness of your actions. She waits patiently as you run from adventure to adventure, spinning faster and faster like a toy on its last bit of wind-up. You’re burning yourself up like you would burn up a star to say goodbye.

You tell her that you’re living as much as you can before you go.

She tells you that you’re not really going. You’re only changing, and you’ve changed before.

You may be fooling yourself, but you’re not fooling her. She’s known you too long.

You’re terrified, petrified of what’s going to take you out. This incarnation is too stubborn, too selfish, to self-bloody-righteous to just let something else take you out. You’re going to burn, and you’re going to be the one to do it.

She knows this.

She can’t stop you.

Muse: The Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 218

FOR THE DRABBLE MEME.

• Come fly with me, let's fly, let's fly away
If you can use some exotic booze
There's a bar in far Bombay
Come fly with me, let's fly, let's fly away •

"What the hell drink was that?"

"Pan galactic gargleblaster. Delicious, aren't they? Get you a bit intoxicated after a few, of course."

"And are you?"

"Am I what?"

"Drunk?"

"Probably." When he says probably, he attempts to lean casually against the side of the TARDIS and ends up slipping, very nearly falling flat on his fact.

She laughs, at least. But she's been keeping up with him and the number of drinks he's had, so she's probably just as far gone as he is, if not worse. Once he straightens up, she leans over and presses a kiss to his mouth.

"What was that for?" he asks.

"I wanted to see if I liked it," she replies, smoothly. Her voice is high and tinny, but still sounds smooth and seductive.

"And what did you decide?"

"I don't know yet." She leans in again and kisses him more firmly. He responds this time, though it's hardly his best kiss. He's far too intoxicated for it to even really be a decent kiss, but when she pulls back, she looks pleased.

"It's even better when you help," she says.

He smiles. "You should use that some day, Betty."

She nods to the blue box. "You gonna invite me in?"

He wants to. He's just intoxicated enough and she's attractive enough that it seems like a good idea. But he can't, he knows he can't. He makes a face.

"Sorry."

"You've got a wife waiting for you?"

He looks at the TARDIS and can practically feel the rage rippling off of her. She does not appreciate being a support to him or her while they snog. "Something like that."

"I don't mind wives, you know. Never stopped me before."

"And it probably won't in the future."

She smirks and slips out of her heels in order to walk home. "If you need me Steve, you just whistle."

He has no idea where she got the impression his name is 'Steve', but he still grins stupidly after her as she walks away. He fumbles with the key to the TARDIS and pushes the doors open. Inside, he can definitely feel the irritation of his ship, far stronger than just out of the doors. He can imagine if she was humanoid, she'd be standing there, holding a rolling pin and glaring. As it is, the room is stuffy and hot with her temper.

"She's gone, you don't have to be this way." He tosses his coat to one of the columns and it misses completely. He sighs and half-stumbles towards his bedroom. The walls are ice cold from irritation and he pats the coral.

"You know I wouldn't bring her here. I've got far too much respect for you." His words are slurred from the alcohol, but he's absolutely convinced of them.

The emotional pressure at the back of his mind is really unconvinced of his words.

"I don't know why you're so jealous," he says, tugging off his tie and shirt once he gets to his bedroom. There are a few lipstick stains on his collar and he makes a face. "A little jealous, maybe. But not this jealous."

She huffs again and the floor is icy cold once he kicks off his trainers.

"I always come back to you, you know," he says, dropping back onto the bed. The covers are warm, at least. She knows he needs to feel safe when he sleeps, and she doesn't deny him that.

If she were a woman, though, he imagines she'd be sighing with exasperation.

"We'll go somewhere tomorrow," he promises. "Gatritico! Or Niamar 5! Lovely worlds, no population. It'll just be the two of us, TARDIS. We'll get away from it all."

He feels no pressure of emotion against the back of his mind, and he imagines that's her way of saying she'll think about it.

He curls up under the covers (having completely forgotten about his trousers, socks, or the fact that he hasn't taken a shower) and closes his eyes, the drunken suptor turning quickly to drunken slumber.

"I love you, TARDIS," he mumbles. Even when sober, she's the only being in the universe he can say that to without incredible difficulty. They've been together too long, they know each other too well. He loves her even when she sends him to the wrong planet and she loves him even when he snogs humans.

He feels a gentle, comforting pressure, and he imagines she's bemusedly replying the same thing.

Muse: The Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 747
Use of Lauren Bacall not authorized by Lauren Bacall.

Crushed

and

The Psychiatrist: Women. You get to talk about women.
Thomas Crown: Oh, I enjoy women.
The Psychiatrist: Enjoyment isn't intimacy.
Thomas Crown: And intimacy isn't necessarily enjoyment.
The Psychiatrist: How would you know? Has it occurred to you that you have a problem with trust?
Thomas Crown: I trust myself implicitly.
The Psychiatrist: But can other people trust you?
Thomas Crown: Oh, you mean society at large?
The Psychiatrist: I mean women, Mr.Crown.
Thomas Crown: Yes, a woman could trust me.
The Psychiatrist: Good. Under what extraordinary circumstances would you allow that to happen?
Thomas Crown: A woman could trust me as long as her interests didn't run too contrary to my own.
- The Thomas Crown Affair

+~

He loved her, once.

He remembers the emotion, even if he no longer possesses the ability to feel the emotion. He remembers long nights and deep sadness and companionship and other ridiculous sensations such as those and he remembers her warmth. He remembers her comfort.

It's funny, but even as he walks down the darkened street towards her (where he left her oh, so long ago), he feels a strange pang. A longing for the comforts of home. Were he the sort to indulge in such ridiculousness, he might even term it as homesickness. But he is not that sort of a man.

( He hasn't been that sort of a man in a very, very long time. Cut for sexual innuendo, non-consent, disturbing imagery, and character death. )

Muse: The Doctor (The Valeyard)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 1,604
Partner: The TARDIS (canon)
written for the evil brigadiertardis, special thanks to salvagestime for the beta!

Title: Everyone Has Someone (An And So It Goes Remix)
Author: rude_not_ginger
Characters/Pairings: Ten/TARDIS, Jack/Ianto, Martha/Tom
Rating: PG
Summary: The Doctor, Jack, and Martha talk about the Year That Never Was with their respective partners.
Word Count: 2,045
Original Story: http://www.fanfiction.net/s/4571091/1/And_So_It_Goes by Galadriel 1010
Notes: Special thanks to my wonderful beta <3

( It's only just ended. The long, horrible year. )

Follows this.

Things begin and end.

It's the way of the universe.

It's the end, now. It should feel like a beginning, but it doesn't.

This is worse than exile.

With exile, there is always a hope of freedom. A chance. A glimmer. At best, escape. At worst, forgiveness. But the result is the same. That universal vortex. That promise of an eternity of travel.

But not now.

When you stop walking, you're not far off of Glasgow. Largest city in Scotland, third largest in the United Kingdom. The air is heavy with cold you can't feel and the people are cheerfully bustling around in a manner you can't imitate. It is raining. The concrete is wet and hard and there are strange smells from new foods and automobiles and life all around you. It's a place you've loved to explore in the past, to take in the sights.

But you can't possibly think about that, now. Now, it's about necessity. This city is part of your survival. You must become a creature of survival. Why? Because she wouldn't want you to die. Even though it doesn't feel worth it right now. Not to go on living, not without her.

( To survive, for her. You're cold and wet. You need shelter. )

Muse: The Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 1,650

How to deal with death is at least as important as how to deal with life. -Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan

Rifts close and rifts open. It happens.

When the Doctor finds himself in the area of a rift opening, he usually re-directs the TARDIS over to see what's happened. With companion in tow, they find adventure, help out, and make an afternoon of it. He remembers sitting on a crystal mountain with Donna, watching the sky blaze orange as the rift over Grea Sentra closed. They'd just finished talking peace with rift-traveling aliens and the native creatures. It was a good day.

But he's alone now. When he gets the blip on the monitor of rift activity in the Gamma Quadrant, he hesitates. No matter what's out there, he is the only one who will see it.

Still, something to do. He's fallen into a rut of taking bits of the TARDIS engine apart, cleaning them, and putting them back together. One cannot live on engine maintenance alone. Certainly not the Doctor.

He twists the dials on the console and steers the TARDIS towards a desolate, broken world. Lifeless, or very nearly. Except for a sudden, strong blip of life. Human life. He tugs on a pair of oversized goggles and ventures out into the blasting winds of the dark world.

"Hello?" he calls over the roar of the wind. "Hello?"

(  There's no response at first, and he thinks that maybe no one was in the rift. Or if they were, they were too injured to survive. Then he hears it. )

The stars, that nature hung in heaven, and filled their lamps with everlasting oil, give due light to the misled and lonely traveller.
-John Milton

Muse: The Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 2,569

It's a sort of dance, actually.

( She's always been a bit of a tease. Cut for innuendo. )

Muse: The Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 277

She usually slept very deeply while on the TARDIS. The first week she stayed on board, the natural hum of the engines and vibration of the ship bothered her. After that, it was almost like a lullaby, like her mother's white-noise meditation tapes. The motion of the ship was almost like a cradle rocking.

Their sudden absence made her blink awake. The TARDIS was perfectly still and completely quiet. The TARDIS wasn't in flight, which usually meant they'd landed somewhere.

Wait.

That usually meant they'd landed!

She leapt from her bed and tugged on a pair of jeans and a top. There was no way she was sleeping through a new place and there was no way she was going to let the Doctor run off without her! He was always doing that; not telling her things and running off and doing things without her. It was enough to make a girl think she wasn't wanted. She didn't like thinking that.

The lights in the hallway as Martha headed towards the console were off. Even with her red leather jacket on, it was still cold throughout the corridors. The TARDIS wasn't just sitting there, parked. It seemed almost as if the TARDIS was off.

She was used to it being darker, even a little colder, at night. The TARDIS, Martha figured, worked along the Doctor's limited sleep schedule. That whole symbiotic thing he mentioned once. But this was more than just a sleepy TARDIS. What could it be? The Doctor would've woken her if something went wrong. Exotic messages and trips to Metabilis Three? Oh, she could sleep through those. But if the TARDIS was about to go out, well, he'd have told her.

"Doctor!" she called. He had to be in the console room. Had to be trying to put life back into the TARDIS, yeah?

No, no. There was light coming from inside the console. Very faint, but it was definitely there. But the Doctor was nowhere to be seen. Not even his feet poking out from the grates.

"Doctor?" There was no response, except perhaps the temperature of the room dropping very slightly. Martha tugged her jacket tighter around her and headed for the door. It was open just a bit, and while there was mostly darkness outside, she could see a few very faint lights. They looked like…

Table lamps. In fact, they were table lamps, lined up along a display in what appeared to be a furniture store. Martha stepped out onto the plush carpet and looked around in confusion. The TARDIS was parked in the display room of a furniture store. As a matter of fact, it looked like the furniture store two blocks over from her flat, where she bought her desk.

(  Well, that was disappointing. She was hoping for a furniture store in the future, at least. )

Muse: The Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 1,879

"Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths, Enwrought with golden and silver light, The blue and the dim and the dark cloths Of night and light and the half-light, I would spread the cloths under your feet: But I, being poor, have only my dreams; I have spread my dreams under your feet; Tread softly because you tread on my dreams."
- William Butler Yeats, "He wishes for the Cloths of Heaven"


Following this ficlet.

She dreams of starfire.

Twisted, burning portals of worlds and universes, and the blur of a swirling vortex of time and space. She has never dreamed like this before, and the experience is both comforting and terrifying.

She sleeps, and he can not. It's a strange experience, considering he has always slept within her when she was not as she is. Now, she dreams as she lies in his arms, wrapped up within his trench coat. (  He can feel her dreams; feel the euphoria of imagining she is still a police box with a labyrinth within. )

Muse: The Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 1,108

1. The Doctor doesn't remember most of his own secrets. He chalks it up to old age and after 900-odd years traveling in space and time, age is easy to blame. The truth is, he doesn't remember because he can't bear to. There's so much that would drag him down if he let it.

2. He's not really 900 years old. He's closer to 1400, but with all the time-crossing, human-changing, exiled moments, he figures he can just estimate and round down. It's not as if 900 is any less impressive or intimidating to anyone he might tell.

3. Romana would know his age. That's the only reason he doesn't miss her, actually. She'd give him away in a heartbeat. She was always so good at that. Frustrating and endearing all at the same time, that was Romana. She was one of his forced companions---one he didn't really want to travel with, and yet when she left, it broke his hearts. He never talks about how much it hurts him, but the TARDIS knows.

4. He always takes the companions home to meet the TARDIS before he invites them on board. The TARDIS was always a better judge of people than he was, and she would always let him know when it didn't think someone was a good fit.

5. Of course, she thought Rose was going to be a terrible fit, and he ignored her. She was more than just a pretty face and blonde hair (which the TARDIS figured would only cause trouble). He thought that Rose would grow on them both and she would help them open up to new people. The TARDIS thought she'd be a menace and steal him away. He was right, and the TARDIS was wrong. It's probably the only time the TARDIS was wrong.

6. The TARDIS regrets being wrong. It should've given her the benefit of the doubt, it thinks. Should've spent more time simply enjoying her company rather than setting off alarm bells in the Doctor's mind. It shouldn’t have mattered if the Doctor fell in love with her, the TARDIS should've just let it happen, it believes. The Doctor, however, can't blame anyone but himself for what didn't happen with Rose.

7. The Doctor refuses to let himself fall into regret. Over anything, actually. It's too easy after everything he's been through. He focuses, instead, on fixing his TARDIS. Showing her that he's not going anywhere, that he still cares. She can feel his pain and he wants her to feel comfort. His human companions are often neglected during these dark moments.

8. He does, on occasion, let himself remember. His eyes grow wet and his hearts clench up, but he never goes so far as to actually cry or let his emotions take over. Too much at stake. When he goes so far as to remember in front of his companion, Martha's hand will slip into his. Every time, he thanks the TARDIS for suggesting he take her along.

9. But Martha leaves him, too. She kisses him on the cheek and tells him that her family needs her and she's gone gone gone. He stares at the door and watches her go. All he wants to do is beg for her to come back.

10. She won't, of course. Because, in the end, the Doctor has to be alone. It's his most painful secret, but it's one he can't make himself forget.

Muse: The Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 576